My First
"Your first time is always the most exciting," at least, that's what Scott told me the night before he was arrested. We both knew he was going to prison for a long time. I guess I was too worked up about his case to realize my skepticism at the time, but thinking back on it, I really didn't believe him. Scott had the type of influence that could have changed the world, and then some. He just had a way with people. It seemed like no matter how bad a situation he'd get himself into, he always found a way to talk his way out of it. And although I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss him to death, it's pretty nice not having my spotlight stolen every five seconds. You see, Scott (in addition to being a master manipulator) was always favored by my parents and well, pretty much the entire family as a whole. I can't really blame them though. I mean shit; he had it all. He was handsome, intelligent, and most of all; charismatic. It was no wonder people always thought him the older brother. Apparently there was some serious genetic mutation going on with my parents' DNA during their first attempt at procreation, because I wasn't blessed with any of the traits Scott received. If I had to sum myself up in one word it would probably be "plain". With an oh-so staggering height of 5'6" and physical features that screamed white collar, I always felt like a person that followed Scott around just to make him look even more attractive in contrast. As you probably have guessed, I've never been good with people; females in particular. Fortunately, Scott would tell me everything I'd ever need to know. The first time I was desperate enough to ask for his advice was a little more than 2 years ago. I remember it well because it was the same day I'd gotten jumped in the school parking lot. It was that point in my life when I realized I needed a new hobby, or to meet a new person or something. It finally dawned on me that I might as well ask Scott for advice on the one thing he had more expertise in than anything else. After all, I was pretty tired of being a virgin. I was laying on the couch with a bag of ice on my face when I heard someone enter through the side door. I immediately realized it was Scott because it was the same entrance he'd always use after going out at night. He proceeded to take off his shoes, do a double take, and stare at me all puzzled-like. "What in the hel-" "Don't worry about it." I cut him off harshly. "I have something to ask you; well, a few things." I stated uncomfortably. "Go on then." he replied hurriedly. "Well, I'd like some advice on..." You can pretty much tell where the conversation went from there. He went on to tell me how much of an "art form" it was. He explained all of the technicalities in extensive detail. It was pretty graphic stuff, but hey, I'd have to learn some time. By the time the conversation had terminated it was well past midnight. "Welp, that about covers the fundamentals, it's getting late though bro so I'm gonna go fall asleep to another one of those terrible free on demand movies. Good night Tyler. Oh, and remember this: Your first time is always the most exciting." I nodded and then proceeded to embrace sleep. When I woke up the next morning, the police had already arrived and had Scott in cuffs. I still can't believe I slept through it all. I looked at him and for the first time, we both knew that there was no way he was talking his way out of this one. Our eyes burned into each other's for what seemed like an eternity, but we never uttered a word to each other. My parents reached for him and cried out in agony, but it was no use. They said their farewells, and braced themselves for the grief that was soon to follow. I was upset for many weeks after that, and understandably so. I really couldn't seem to get him off my mind. Sleep came in the briefest of moments, comparable to the naps you'd take while listening to a professor's lecture. At least I wasn't alone. My entire family seemed to be in ruin. As tough as things had been for me, time was still behind the scenes, slowly tending to the wounds Scott left in his departure. It was the first week of April, nearly two months after the jury's verdict when I finally decided to use the advice Scott had given me. I already had someone in mind, a girl by the name of Jennifer I'd spoken to in a coffee shop not too far from where I live. She was a beautiful brunette with blue-eyes, the kind that seemed to have the capability of peeking into your soul. Luckily for me, that detail was strictly metaphorical. I actually managed to get her number a few weeks prior, but at the time I just wasn't in the mood to pursue her. My desire had practically been lit ablaze since then due to frustrations of a very... "explicit" nature, so I decided to call her up. "Um, hello?" A curious voice responded. "Hey, it's me Tyler. We met in the coffee shop on Westborn a few weeks ago. Do you remember me?" "Oh! Black hair, brown eyes, and I think I recall freckles. Nope, doesn't seem to ring a bell." We continued to throw playful jabs at each other until the timing felt right and the inevitable question popped up. "Do you want to go out tonight? I know a great place called Ricci's not even 45 minutes away and even though I'm as low class as they come, I've already managed to get reservations earlier today." "You're getting a little bit ahead of yourself now aren't ya? I like that. Sure." "Great, I'll pick you up around 6:00, " "Alright, don't you need my address though?" "Oh yeah, umm I completely forgot about that." "322 Hickory, I take it someone as resourceful as you doesn't need directions." She didn't know how right she was. I arrived at her door looking my absolute best, suit jacket and everything. "You ready to go?" I asked. "Mhm." She smiled and grabbed my arm. I wasn't yet ready to make eye contact so I didn't. Not for the entire drive. As awkward as it was, I could tell that my indifference was driving her crazy. It wasn't even an hour later when she started to seem hesitant. She started asking questions about the location of Ricci's and how close we were. I ignored them all. I could sense a heavy paranoia sprouting in her as our surroundings grew more and more unfamiliar. Anxiousness had finally given way to fear. It was when she asked "Does the restaurant even exist?" that we arrived at our destination. I looked around at the woods that seemed to engulf the tiny sedan. It was dark, eerie. The atmosphere couldn't be any more fitting for the events which were about to take place. I turned to her and said as coldly as possible: "Ricci's is about as real as your chance of survival". It was the first and last time I had held her gaze. My brother was right. Category:Mental Illness